My Life Imploded But I Got Some Free Makeup

It's been longer than I intended since I last wrote. Yet, shorter than I expected. I know that makes no sense.

But the thing is, when traumatic things happen in my life, I tend to submerge, isolate, withdraw, and all those emotionally unhealthy synonyms one does when they are hurting.

The last time major upset happened in my life was in August 2017 and it took me over two years to start blogging again. 

Recently, something equally traumatic happened and I'm pretty proud of myself that on the two month anniversary of the night my life imploded, I can find it in myself to blog again.

I won't air the dirty laundry here, but the Cliff's Notes version is that my heart was broken in a million pieces, my marriage is over, and I went from preparing to buy a home of my (our) own, to living on a cot in a borrowed bedroom.

Lines from an email I wasn't supposed to see, his guilty look, and the words, "she's an old friend..." will stay with me forever because in those few seconds, I knew my life would never be the same.

(Okay, so maybe just one tiny little dirty sock is swaying in the breeze of this post. But I think I'm entitled.)

Anyway...I intend to move on. And I purposely didn't say "I'm trying to move on" because I read this article about the difference between saying "I intend to" and "I will try to" and there's a big difference.

"The tryer fixates on the difficulty of the task, and hopes for relief in the form of success. The intender fixates on success and navigates any difficulty arising on the way."

Brilliant, right? That quote is from the article I linked to above, from one of my favorite websites, Raptitude. All of his posts are worth reading.

It's all about intention. And I intend to move on. I intend to focus on the steps I'm taking for my happiness. I intend to keep blogging.

On the topic of moving on, I'm currently staying in an extra bedroom at my brother's house. There isn't a bed in the room so I had to improvise and thought (in my Pollyanna optimism) that I could sleep on an air mattress temporarily because I've done it camping many times.

I couldn't get the air mattress completely full, despite pumping it for like an hour. (Insert inappropriate joke here.)

It seemed full enough, so I threw my poofy mattress cover over it, made it up with sheets and laid down.

Me and my dog flopped and bounced on that thing all night like we were in a waterbed. When daylight broke we looked at each with the exact same bleary, irritated expression.

The similarities in our experience ended there. She jumped right off the floating torture device, shook away the horrid memory of the night and trotted out to see what's for breakfast.

 I, on the other hand, could not find a solid surface I could grasp to hoist myself up from my sitting position about 8 inches off the floor. The most solid thing was the floor itself.

So I rolled off the mattress, got up on my hands and knees and lumbered up from there.

That, my friends, is not how I wanted to begin every day for the next 2 months of my newly single, self-esteem battered life.

And now I'm stuck with the damn thing because Walmart will only exchange an air mattress for another air mattress. Something about germs and Covid. Which makes no sense because no matter what I trade the air mattress for, they'll still be stuck with an unsellable air mattress.

Now I'm using a twin camping cot my brother had, with a queen foam mattress topper on it, folded over for extra padding so I don't feel the bar that runs horizontally across the middle of the cot (and why do they do that??). My sleeping area is actually about 2/3 the width of a twin bed. Probably about the width of a coffin. Perfect.

Meanwhile my king size adjustable bed with hypoallergenic perfectly firm mattress and gel cooling mattress topper is sitting in my storage unit. 

My life right now is an exercise in patience and gratitude. Patience for the day my daughter closes on a house and I get my own room and bed, and gratitude that I have a roof over my head under which I'm not reliving pain and anxiety every single day while I look into the face that betrayed me. 

So I'm okay on my little cot in my borrowed room.

Before I sign off for the night, you all might be curious about my friend Itchy, from the drug store and whether or not I got my free makeup bag and did I have to scratch any parts of him to get it. Figuratively speaking.

I know you're on the edge of your seat and you must have checked back on my blog every day since that post waiting to find out. (*guffaw with eye-roll*)

Turns out that Itchy is a pretty nice guy. I went back to the store on the day he said the bags would be in and they hadn't gotten them in yet. I returned a few days later when he said they were expected again and still they hadn't come in.

He felt bad so he gave me a makeup bag of samples that normally they sell for $20 or something, for free. Here it is so you can see it.

The products are pretty cool too.

I was in another aisle when he brought the bag up to the register and I heard him tell the cashier it was for me and not to charge me and then he said the thing that made this gray-haired lady's day.

"You'll know who she is, she's blonde."

I could have kissed him.

Signed,

Newly single and easily flattered (my new match.com user name)